


Doing Time: Original Ending

by RileyC



Series: Doing Time 'verse [2]
Category: Oz - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:22:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC/pseuds/RileyC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was the first ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doing Time: Original Ending

Toby took his time driving home, not because the route was strange and unfamiliar, but because it wasn’t. He even detoured to go by the family law firm, and gave himself a downright warm and fuzzy feeling when he saw it. Which was nuts because of course the building would _be_ there. It was there … back where he came from; it was only that no one named Beecher practiced law there anymore.

If compelled to tell the truth, however, he also took his time because of the sheer physical pleasure of driving, of being behind the wheel again after not enjoying that privilege for so long. It felt good, and there was a part of him that really wanted to rev ‘er up and go. That impulse was restrained, however, and he proceeded at a pace sedate enough to earn a few irately honked horns along the way.

Before long, though, he was pulling into the exclusive, gated community of Bryant Park and cruising along through the well-maintained streets where no pothole ever dared to appear. Past manicured lawns and expensive homes, only a few of them of the gaudy and overblown McMansion type.

He pulled into his driveway and simply sat there for awhile, soaking it all it up, a few twinges of guilt finally creeping up to nag him.

Was this right? To step into this guy’s life, take it over like a hermit crab moving into a shiny, abandoned shell he’d found? What if someone noticed he was different? Was that Tobias even really gone, or had he also stepped sideways into another life? Were there a million Tobias Beechers sitting in their driveways this very minute, pondering these very matters?

Jesus, he thought, and whapped his head against the steering wheel a couple of times.

Could he over-think something, or what?

Okay. All right. It was done. He was here. There was no going back. There was nothing to do except keep going forward and opening those doors.

He climbed out of the car and looked up and down the street, and did something he had rarely allowed himself the luxury of, back in the day: drinking in the sights and sounds and aromas of a summer evening. Somewhere nearby, a neighbor was grilling sausages, and the delicious smell of it carried on the breeze made his mouth water. Children’s voices and laughter rang out from the playground nearby. Lights were coming on and a few more cars coasting down the street as folks got home.

Toby knew this place. He hadn’t seen it in ten years, and hadn’t appreciated any of it much back then, but everything was sliding into a familiar and welcome place for him, and he smiled and waved at Mrs. Clancy out walking her dog who was either the oldest Jack Russell in history, or a pup of the one he remembered. She smiled and waved back, as if she saw him like this every day and this little ritual was as much a part of the daily routine as the postman coming around with the mail.

The dog lifted his leg and peed against the lamppost, but Toby chose not to view that as any kind of commentary.

Inside the house, he quickly discovered everything was the same yet different. Where before everything had been fussy and frou-frou, with a lot of clunky antiques, now the lines were clean and modern, and he could really picture himself at home here. The absence of children’s toys scattered around gave him a pang -- but he didn’t want to go there, not yet, and instead focused on getting to know himself better.

The books on the shelves included familiar favorites, alongside ones that sounded like they would be something he’d like. The stack of CDs by the stereo looked about right, too. Ditto the DVDs -- wait, he liked _Titanic_? He slipped it out, looking it over for some indication it was supposed to go back to Blockbusters, or a sticky note saying: _Toby, yumkins, I hope u love this 2. OXOX._ No such evidence came to light, and he filed it away as a slightly disturbing aberration, and proceeded with a bit more caution as he explored the rest of the house, glad no one was there to observe him casing his own house.

No other surprises popped right out at him, however, and he thought he might be ready to dig a little deeper and find out more about who Tobias Beecher was here -- and what he wasn’t -- when a noise from his study brought him up short.

Now what the fuck? he wondered, opening the door to see, abruptly coming face to ski mask with a burglar. Before he could do more than yell, “Shit!” the burglar swung at him, fist cracking into his face and sending him stumbling as the intruder scrambled past him. Toby reached out to grab him, got kicked in the stomach for his trouble and went down with a gasp, the wind knocked out of him. Another crashing sound from the direction of the kitchen, and then silence, as he sat there, thinking this was a less than auspicious omen, before dragging himself over to the phone and punching in 9-1-1.

~*~  
Slumped down on the couch, holding an icepack to his face, Toby watched the cops prowling around and gathering evidence, talking on their radios, and casting him suspicious looks like they knew he wasn’t telling them everything. _If they only knew…_

They’d cart him away to the funny farm.

The best part of it all was approaching him again, tall and with a body that even a well-cut suit couldn’t entirely disguise: Detective Christopher Keller, looking pissed off and wary.

Toby hadn’t taken his eyes off him from the moment he’d walked in the door.

He supposed he hadn’t made the best first impression, gawping at him and then cackling with ironic glee. He wanted to shout a huge fucking thank you to the universe. He wanted to grab this Chris and kiss him and make him remember and explain why it was so fucking hilarious that he was a cop here. And he couldn’t do any of that, because this Chris didn’t know him yet, and he couldn’t run the risk of screwing things up before they even got the chance to start.

“So, you think you might reconsider that protective detail?” Det. Chris Keller asked him.

“Because some hoodlum broke in and tried to steal the stereo?”

Chris cleared his throat impatiently, and sat down beside him on the couch, and it was all Toby could do not scoot closer, not to wrap his arms around him and hold on tight and breathe him in… The throat cleared again, and he refocused his attention, meeting a pair of very exasperated blue eyes. “Number one,” and he ticked off his points on long, slim fingers that Toby wanted to feel stroking his skin, “the perp didn’t go after your stereo, he went for your laptop. Number two, I read your case file on the way over and wouldn’t call death threats a minor incident. And number three,” Chris leaned close enough Toby could smell the cinnamon gum he’d been chewing, growling the last words, “somebody fucking tried to run you down in the street today. Or did you think no one was going to find out about that?”

Toby blinked, stared at him. “You think somebody’s trying to kill me?”

Chris gave him a hard look that very clearly said _duh_.

“No, no, no, that wasn’t part of the deal.”

Blue eyes narrowed with misgivings now, Chris asked, “What deal are we talking about?”

_The one where I get a new life that’s all sunshine and roses._

Christ, he should have known better.

“Look, Detective Keller,” he said, stumbling over the name, “it’s been a really long day. Could we maybe go over all this in the morning?”

And maybe he’d wake up, back where he’d come from, with all of this nothing but a dream.

There wasn’t a lot of comfort in that idea.

“You gonna be all right?” Chris asked, something softer and warmer in his face now, touching his arm in support as if he'd seen a flicker of fear in Toby's face -- and getting a startled look in his own eyes for a moment, as if being close to Toby, touching him, wasn’t the worst thing he’d done all day.

Toby nodded. “Whatever it was, they won’t come back tonight.”

“Yeah,” Chris sighed, rubbing his shoulder lightly now, “probably not. I’m leaving a patrol car outside, though, just to be on the safe side.”

Yes, because Kellers everywhere always looked after their Beechers.

Toby snorted another laugh and shook his head, suspecting he was getting punchy and that getting some sack time might really be a good idea.

He looked at Chris again, searching for something he knew, finding it in the tilt of the head, the wary gaze that couldn’t quite fathom what he was up to. It wasn’t a lot, but it could be a start. “So, you’re working this case, then?”

“Yep.”

“That probably means we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” he mused, dropping his gaze to Chris’s left hand and making note of there being no wedding ring. “Spending a lot of time together.”

Chris looked back at him, something speculative in his eyes, something … not entirely displeased with that prospect? “That a problem, Mr. Beecher?

“Not if you call me, Toby.”

Chris blinked, nodded after another moment. “Guess I could do that.” He got up then, shooting him another curious look, but only asking, “What time do you get up in the morning?”

“Because…?”

Chris shrugged. “Thought I could bring you some coffee, maybe we could go over the details some more.”

“Seven o’clock?”

Chris nodded. “Sounds good.”

Yes, it did.

Toby doubted he’d get much sleep, though.

And if this was all a dream, he didn’t want to ever wake up.


End file.
